Fixation
by BloodOrangeSoda
Summary: Wil helps Raven polish his sword, both literally and figuratively. And all Raven was looking for was a quiet place in the woods to clean his blade in peace.


**Warnings**: Probably cussing because I can't seem to write without it, smut

**Disclaimer**: Fire Emblem does not belong to me.

**Notes**: The third fic in my series of hooking up Raven with every eligible guy in Fire Emblem. Believe me, there are so many more where this came from.

xoxox

Wil is no good at cooking. Nor is he good at cleaning, or sewing, or stitching wounds. When he first joined Eliwood's troop of fighters, Hector had bemoaned his arrival, claiming that the archer was useless and that they would never find a place for him in their camp. Then, when Wil pulled arrow after arrow from his quiver and fired one after another without so much as pausing to aim, creating an outline of the hulking axe-wielder on the trunk of a nearby tree, Hector reconsidered. Wil graciously kept from pointing out the white pallor of Hector's cheeks from having arrows whistling past his head close enough to ruffle his hair.

Because Wil can _hunt_.

He, Rebecca and Rath share hunting duties; each has their personal favorite locale to traverse while searching for their prey. Rath prefers the open fields, where deer graze in a sea of swaying grass. Rebecca looks to the sky, shooting down any unsuspecting birds that fly overhead. And Wil takes to the forest, where there is no shortage of small game. Foxes, raccoons, and rabbits fill their stew on every third day.

On this particular day, he is tracking a particularly plump rabbit. The rabbit, knowingly or not, leads him on a wild goose chase as it weaves a looping path through the forest, forcing Wil to duck under all kinds of underbrush and wriggle through thickets to keep the creature in his sights. Finally they reach a clearing, where Wil will have enough room to aim his bow. The rabbit hops into the center of the clearing, and Wil creeps up to the side, preparing to fire.

Then he notices Raven, who leans against a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, resting his drawn sword over his knees. For once, the redhead's face isn't scowling. His lips are slack, his eyes unseeing. He seems deep in thought.

No, Wil realizes suddenly – he seems turned on.

The redhead's cheeks are painted with a faint blush. Normally so observant, always narrowed in silent judgment, his eyes are glazed and distant. His chest rises and falls with every shallow breath. Oh _wow_.

There would be other rabbits, Wil tells himself, and steps into the clearing. "Hey, Rave!"

The rabbit flees, but Wil hardly notices.

Raven's eyes regain clarity in an instant; he tenses as quickly as Wil can string his bow, his omnipresent scowl rising on his features. "What is it?" He snaps.

"Nothing, nothing," Wil says, plopping down in front of Raven. He cocks his head. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Raven says, somehow scowling even more. "Leave m–"

"Whatcha doing?" Wil asks.

Raven blinks, thrown. "Polishing my sword."

Wil smiles. "Really? You know, not many people in our army take such good care of their weapons. I guess it's because we need to get new ones so frequently, it doesn't seem worth it. Personally, I have to keep my bow well-oiled because they get stiff if you don't, and it needs to be supple if I expect to be able to bend it. And I know Hector sharpens his axes. But I don't know anyone else who polishes them! I asked Marcus once if he did and he scowled and said he didn't have time to waste on appearances. Not that you're wasting time, of course! I did notice that your swords are always in better condition than –"

"Wil." Raven says. "Shut up."

"Oh, I'm babbling again, aren't I?" Wil asks. "Sorry. So why are you doing it?"

If he didn't know better, he would say that Raven flushes at the question. "It calms me," is all he says.

Not exactly what Wil expected, but he can roll with it. "So this is your private time? Seems healthy. Everyone should take some time to themselves to relax, you know?"

"Yes," Raven says flatly. "I often try to take time _to myself_, but it's so difficult to get away from people."

Wil cheerfully pretends not to notice the unsubtle dig. "Exactly! Tell you what. I'll sit here silently, and you can go on polishing your blade."

"You'll be silent." Raven says. "You."

"Hey!" Wil says, pouting. "You don't have to sound so incredulous."

Seemingly against his will, Raven's lips twitch into a faint smile. "Fine. You sit silently, and I'll clean my blade."

"Kay."

True to his word, Wil stays silent. He wants to watch this. Surprisingly, it's Raven who can't keep up his side of the deal. He picks up his blade, fingers tight around the hilt, looks at it, and sets it down. "I can't." He grumbles.

Wil raises his eyebrows theatrically, miming sewing his lips shut when Raven glares at him.

"I can't do this while you're watching," Raven growls.

Wil tilts his head to the side.

"I don't know why," Raven says, correctly interpreting the meaning behind the gesture. "I like privacy."

Wil has a sneaking suspicion there's a little more to it than that. He reaches out, quick as a flash, and plucks Raven's blade from his grip. The redhead makes a startled noise of protest, but Wil ignores him as he sets the sword down in his lap and picks up the cleaning oil and cloth where Raven set them down at his side.

He drizzles oil onto the flat of the blade. Then, a wicked smirk on his lips, Wil draws the slick cloth fully across the sword. Though Raven doesn't react, not even a twitch, Wil notices that his pupils are dilated, swallowing up the red irises, and that he doesn't seem to be breathing.

Good, good. But there's so much more fun to be had.

Wil squeezes the hilt once, just to get comfortable with the feel of it. Then, starting at the blade's point, he presses the cloth to the steel with two fingers and works down in tiny circles. Only because he watches Raven so intently does he notice the almost silent intake of breath, the barely perceptible flutter of his eyelashes. Raven may have a good poker face, but even he can't mask the way his pulse is quickening as Wil strokes his blade.

"Stop that," he says lowly.

Wil smirks, and still says nothing. He twists the wrist of the hand that grips the hilt while his other hand speeds up, working from the point down to the cross-guard, then back up, until Raven's eyes are glued to his hand and he doesn't remember to act cold. And Raven is so pretty when he thaws, his red eyes going soft and warm, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Then, Wil drops the cloth and takes the blade in hand. He knows how deathly sharp the edge is, but he's sure to be careful as he handles it, as gently as he would be if he were actually _handling_ Raven instead of this erotic parody. He scores the edge of his thumbnail against the fuller in the center of the blade, all the way from the tip to the hilt.

By this point, Raven's shoulders are braced against the tree behind him; he pushes back without realizing he's doing it, hips straining forward, vainly seeking friction. Wil knows that some people grow attached to their weapons, but this is just ridiculous.

"Man," he murmurs, watching in fascination as Raven traps his lower lip between his teeth to keep from groaning, "you _really_ like your swords."

"Shut up," Raven says, his voice gone breathy with lust. He still doesn't look away from Wil's hands. At this point, Wil doesn't think he could even if he wanted to. "I don't –"

Raven cuts himself off with a choked sound when Wil lifts the sword to his lips and licks along the flat of it from hilt to point. It tastes like oil and metal, but it's worth it for the way Raven reacts. His hips jerk forward, hands digging into the soft moss under him so moist dirt spills out between his fingers. The flush that started on his face now delves down the high collar of his shirt, and Wil's never seen his eyes so unfocused.

All in all, it's a tempting image. And Wil has never been known to resist temptation.

He drops the sword to the side, amused when Raven lunges to catch it before it can hit the ground. Unfortunately for the redhead, Wil buries his face in between Raven's legs and mouths at the bulge in his pants before he can rescue his precious blade.

The noise Raven makes is pure relief, and if Wil weren't already rock hard at the image of him like this, that would have done it. Raven's dirt-covered fingers fly to unlace his breeches, but Wil's are already there, tugging them open just enough to free Raven's cock. He licks his lips and dives in, first molding his tongue around the head before opening his throat to slot the whole thing inside, or at least as much as he can fit.

One of Raven's hands digs into his hair, holding his head in place so he can thrust into Wil's mouth desperately, wordless growls and cries pouring from his lips. Wil feels dirt tickling his neck as Raven unintentionally wipes it into his hair, and he would complain, but for one thing, his mouth is full, and for another, it's _hot like burning_. Raven is falling apart, out of control, wild with reckless abandon, and it's all for Wil. No one else made him this way, no one but Wil could break him out of his icy shell.

_Take that, Lucius, _Wil thinks, then hums, coaxing Raven's cock another inch down his throat. He pulls back to tease the slit with the tip of his tongue, then goes back to seeing how much he can fit before triggering his gag reflex. He finds that he likes doing this for Raven, likes the sounds he can coax out of the redhead and the smell of his sweat combined with the sweet scent of the foliage that surrounds them. And Raven seems to like it also, based on the way he trembles against Wil and the soft keening noises that rise from his chest. When Wil looks up, Raven's head is thrown back, eyes shut.

"Shit," Raven grunts, "I'm going to –"

Wil manages two more slick slip-slides of his mouth over Raven's cock before it twitches in his mouth, and he pushes forward so the head is halfway down his throat, so he doesn't have to taste the bitter liquid that follows. He may like doing this for Raven, but he doesn't have to like the after-effects of it.

Wil pulls away, a trail of saliva connecting his mouth and the head of Raven's cock. Raven's eyes, while sated, are bright with focus as he watches Wil pull away. His lips are swollen, with fading marks from where he sunk his teeth in when he came. He lazily stretches, all feline grace and languid pleasure, as if he meant to react like that the whole time, as if the entire tryst were all part of his master plan.

Wil likes that look on him. To be honest, Wil likes nearly every look on him, even his scowl.

Stretching sounds like a good idea, and Wil mirrors Raven, rubbing at his neck to work out the kinks caused by holding his head in an awkward position for so long. Then he glances to the side and finds Raven's free hand, the one that hadn't been lost in his hair, firmly gripping the hilt of the abandoned sword.

He laughs.

The only warning he gets is a slight narrowing of Raven's eyes before he is pinned on his back with the redhead hovering over him. For the next hour, Wil finds himself quite thoroughly chastised.

xoxox

"You're telling me that there was no game in the entire forest," Lowen blinks at Wil.

"Um…" Wil ducks his head, scraping his boot bashfully on the ground. "Yes?"

Merlinus and Lowen trade perplexed looks. "It isn't like you to come back empty-handed," Merlinus comments. "Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," he says. "I don't know what happened! I couldn't find any animals. They must have started to hibernate or something."

"Likely his constant chattering scared them away," a voice drawls behind him.

He whips his head around to glare, then irritation fades into confusion when he finds Rath standing there, holding a deer carcass slung over his shoulder. He unloads it on the ground.

"Wow, thanks!" Wil beams. "How'd you know I needed backup?"

Rath tilts his head to the side. Wil follows the path with his eyes and finds Raven in deep conversation with Lucius outside their tent, absently gesturing with his unsheathed sword in conjunction with his words.

Wil would question further, but Rath is already walking away. Which is fine, because Wil has something to ask Raven. He walks over, waiting to be noticed. Soon, Lucius acknowledges him with a smile and makes his excuses, leaving Raven and Wil alone.

"You told Rath?" Wil asks disbelievingly.

Raven's face is as impassive and cold as ever. "I believe I told him you were too busy running your mouth to hunt," the redhead replies coolly.

Wil punches him in the shoulder. "Running my – hey, you _liked_ how I was using my mouth!"

Raven just looks at him for a moment, perfectly blank, before disappearing into his tent. But Wil's a hunter, and he's trained to notice the little things. Like the slight, devious wink Raven shoots him before turning away, and the way Raven's hand tightens on the hilt of his sword.

Wil walks away whistling.


End file.
